I Rise to the Challenge
by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: My series for the OTP 30 Challenge. I'm letting my head canon and the guys take me where they want to go. Some smut may occur, some fluff, we'll just see what they have to say. Mostly one shots, but we'll see.
1. Holding Hands: Beginnings

"Are you coming?" came the voice from directly behind my ear. You'd think I'd have gotten used to that by now.

"Sneaky bastard." How he could be so quiet I would never know. "Where are we going?" I sighed.

"Out." He was down the stairs already, coat billowing behind him. I grabbed mine and dashed out after him. The sharp winter air was brutal. After the nice warm air of 221B, it hurt to breathe. I looked up the street trying to find my frenzied flatmate. Oddly enough, he was waiting on me.

"Come, John." There was something in his voice, I half expected him to hold out his hand. Shaking my head, convinced the cold must have somehow affected my hearing; I fell into step next to him. I shoved my hands in my pockets and hunkered down against the wind as we walked.

I heard an exasperated chuckle, "Really, John? The coldest day of the winter and you forget your gloves."

"Well, my smartarse of a flatmate decided it was time for jaunt and dashed off without me. I didn't exactly have time to run up and grab them."

As much of a hurry as he'd been in to leave the flat, Sherlock didn't seem to be in a rush to get anywhere and he didn't even try to hail a cab. His walk was unhurried and in tandem with my own shorter legs. I began to wonder what the hell was going on. I was fucking freezing. I almost missed the warm desert winds of Afghanistan at this point.

"What the hell are we doing, Sherlock?"

"Walking." I looked up and Sherlock had that sly smirk that only he can pull off.

"I can see that. Now wipe that smirk off your face or I'll do it for you. But where are we walking to?"

"I have a destination in mind. You'll see when we get there."

"Right then," I sighed, "but do you think we can get there any faster?"

"We'll get there, when we get there."

I could have punched him. Arrogant arse that he was, all nice and warm in his scarf and long wool coat and here I was chilled to the bone. I stopped in my tracks. He barely took two steps before he realized I'd stopped.

"What's wrong, John?" He'd back tracked and was looking down at me.

"I'm not taking one more step until you tell me where we're going. My hands are freezing, I can't feel my nose, and my ears feel like they're about to fall off. So you can either tell me where we're walking to, or I'm getting a cab and going home."

"John…," he huffed.

"Let me show you!" I yanked my hands out of my coat and grabbed his cheeks. They were surprisingly warm. It took me a moment to realize Sherlock's eyes had gone wide. He pulled his hands out of his coat, and it was then I realized he wasn't wearing gloves either. Sherlock grabbed my hands with his. How the hell were they so warm? The man must be a bloody furnace. Bringing them up between the two of us, Sherlock rubbed his hands on the outside and began to blow on my frozen digits. This time it was my eyes that widened. Something shifted and settled in my gut. Something I'd been trying to ignore and deny. It was then I realized my own face mirrored Sherlock's and he smiled.

"Ah, it seems we have arrived," said Sherlock and I didn't even have to ask what he meant.

"Smug bastard," I chuckled as I laced my fingers through his. "Can we get a cab now?"


	2. CookingBaking: Dessert Winds

Ok I'm cheating a little bit with this one. Day 2 is supposed to be "Cuddling" but I received a prompt from the wonderful Kryptaria (who also graciously beta read this for me) yesterday and it fit to perfectly for day 21 "Cooking/Baking" so I'm switching them. Enjoy

OTP 30 Day Challenge Day 2(1): Cooking/Baking  
John couldn't have been more surprised if he'd walked in to find the Queen had dropped in for tea. He'd walked into the kitchen, prepared to unpack the Tesco bags, and found an impeccably clean kitchen. For once there were no experiments in the microwave, the microscope on the table was nowhere to be seen, and amazingly enough there weren't any body parts in the fridge. The spotless kitchen had been wiped down from top to bottom. He took two steps back and was ready to retreat down the stairs, convinced somehow that he'd entered the wrong building. Surely this wasn't 221B!  
"I assure you, that you are indeed in the correct flat and that you haven't lost your mind," was the amused voice that came from the living area.  
"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" chuckled John.  
"Really, John? That's quite cliché, don't you think? I have merely taken it upon myself to make sure that the kitchen was in proper order for tonight's activities."  
John saw Sherlock smile as he watched his partner gasp at the implications of that phrase. One never knew what "activities" might mean when it came to Sherlock Holmes, especially since he and John had moved from flatmates to partners.  
"If I didn't know better," said John, "I'd swear you were going to cook something."  
"Not me, 'we', and we'll be baking, not cooking."  
"I've not done much baking, Sherlock." John rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I'm afraid I won't be much help."  
"Well that makes two of us," said the younger man, jumping up from his chair.  
John rolled his eyes and began putting away the groceries. He was of the firm conviction that he'd be the only one who got his hands dirty tonight, no matter what Sherlock said. "So, what's on the menu?"  
"Cinnamon rolls."  
John's face lit up. Cinnamon rolls had always been a comfort food for him, reminding him of Saturday mornings, autumn, and his mother. When he looked at Sherlock, John saw the tender, true smile that Sherlock reserved only for him. "Thank you."  
Sherlock produced the recipe; they rolled up their sleeves, and got to work. Sherlock was a meticulous measurer, and as John had thought, Sherlock left most of the "dirty work" of mixing and kneading the ingredients to him. Finally the dough was placed in a covered bowl to rise. A flour-covered John turned to look at his oh-to-clean boyfriend. Without warning, John grabbed Sherlock by the wrist and pulled him in close. "You look like you needed a hug, and you're entirely too flour-free," laughed John.  
Sherlock huffed and gave John a shove, "It's not my fault you can't perform such a simple task without creating a mess."  
Sherlock turned to the sink to try and brush off the flour John had deposited on his shirt. John just admired the view, and decided not to tell Sherlock about the pair of flour handprints that his trousers now sported.  
They had to wait an hour for the dough to rise. Sherlock entertained himself by experimenting with flour and various air currents using a small fan he had set up. John sighed and went back to his paper. The kitchen was once again a mess and being used for an experiment. At least this one was easy to clean up once they were done baking the tasty treats.  
The timer went off and they went through the next steps, trading good humored barbs at each other. Finally the rolls went into the oven and John began the cleanup.  
"What about the icing? Shouldn't we wait to clean up until after we've made the icing?" Sherlock asked petulantly.  
"I'm guessing that's your favorite part of a roll?"  
Sherlock grinned evilly. "The icing doesn't just have to go on the rolls."  
John's breath hitched and suddenly his jeans felt uncomfortably tight. "So what ingredients go in the icing?"  
Sherlock pointed to the icing sugar in a bowl behind John. He'd already measured the amount they'd needed earlier. John picked up the bowl and turned to place it on the table. Unfortunately, Sherlock hadn't turned off the fan, and as John turned, Sherlock received a face full of the sweet, powdery sugar.  
"This was not what I had planned," sputtered Sherlock as John clung to the side of the table, laughing. Icing sugar covered Sherlock's face and ears, and sat thick in his curly hair.  
"Aw 'sweetie', don't be upset," John managed to get out between laughs. "We can still make use of the sugar." And John proceeded to show Sherlock just how effective a tongue could be at cleaning up said sugar.


End file.
